


Red Right Hand

by hazey_sloths



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: All For The Game - Freeform, M/M, Multi, TFC, aftg, slow uploads, the foxhole court - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazey_sloths/pseuds/hazey_sloths
Summary: Nathaniel Wesninski has been trained to follow in his father's footsteps as the next Butcher of Baltimore. When leadership changes hands, Ichirou Moriyama orders a clean house and forces Nathaniel to help him. In the weeks that follow, it is discovered that Riko Moriyama's pet has run away to Palmetto State University.When Nathaniel is sent to investiage what happened, he thinks he's just being sent to collect Kevin Day. He doesn't realize he'll have to deal with Kevin's guard dog.





	1. One

Nathaniel Wesninski tossed another blood-soaked rag onto the workbench. The man before him was barely responding, a sure sign that Nathaniel would have to cut back or he would lose the valuable information he hadn’t yet carved out of him. Good cops were hard to pry information out of. Dirty cops who decided to clean up their lives were even harder. 

“Please,” Brooks said. His voice was barely audible. He pulled weakly on the plastic ties that bound him to the chair. “Please, I didn’t tell them anything.”

Nathaniel ran a finger over his knife, debating whether or not he should switch to one with a serrated edge. He nodded to himself, changed blades and crouched in front of the officer. “Unfortunately, I’m not the one you need to convince. The Moriyamas don’t believe you, Brooks. And they’re not here.”

He pressed his blade to the inside of Brooks’s thigh. The pathetic begging was quickly tuned out; it was the same thing every time anyway. He didn’t need to hear it. Brooks quieted when Nathaniel began to run his knife along his leg. The cop’s breath came out in shaky gasps, nearly in sync with the rasping slide of plastic against wood as he gripped the arm of the chair. 

“The femoral artery runs along this part of your leg. If I leave a deep enough wound, you could bleed out in just minutes,” Nathaniel said. The serrated blade bit into Brooks’s skin, opening thin lines of blood that seeped into his jeans. Nathaniel looked up, smiled faintly, and watched as the man’s resolve broke. 

Brooks took a deep breath and began to spill. “Someone from the FBI came to me, asking how involved I was with the Moriyama family. I tried to tell them that I wasn’t but they put a tail on me.”

Lola, who had been watching from the corner of the room, snorted. She was playing with a butterfly knife, itching for the chance to use it. Since Nathan had gone to prison and Nathaniel had taken up his post, she hadn’t gotten to do much in the way of torture. Nathaniel rarely needed her for jobs and the only reason she had tagged along for this one was because he had needed her help to corner Brooks. 

“They put a tail on you and you still went to a meet?” she asked. Nathaniel shot her a sour look over Brooks’s shoulder and she quieted down. He ignored the look of rage that she gave him in return.

“Go on. Ignore her. She’s unimportant.” At that, Lola’s knife clattered loudly. Brooks flinched in shock and annoyed, Nathaniel backhanded him across the face. A streak of blood from his glove was left behind. “Talk. I don't have all day.” 

Blood dribbled down the man’s chin, adding to mess of cuts and bruises on his bare chest. Several shallow wounds oozed with every breath he took. Nathaniel had already been working on him for a few long hours, carving cuts that were deep enough to hurt but shallow enough to keep him alive for a long time. He would remind himself to bring earplugs the next time, though. The screaming was only bearable for a half hour before it became tedious.

“I went to drop off some intel for Lord Moriyama. He wanted some files on a case a few years back, wanted to know who was involved. But they stopped me just before I got there,” Brooks managed. He spat blood onto the floor, narrowly avoiding Nathaniel’s shoes. 

Sighing heavily, Nathaniel dragged his knife across Brooks’s cheek. He paused just shy of the man’s lips and frowned, tapping the knife against fragile skin in reprimand. “I really wish you wouldn't do that. Makes it harder to clean up the more you spill.”

Brooks’s eyes were crossed, staring at the blade that was so close to splitting him open again. It would be a messier cut this time. Having switched knives, Nathaniel would have to apply more pressure and the drag would tear skin ragged beneath the teeth of it. Brooks nodded, only barely as Nathaniel added, “Next time, I will slice your lips off. Do you understand?” 

Silence made the room more tense. Nathaniel withdrew to observe Brooks. A man under threat of death really had no reason to lie and he could see nothing deceitful in the cop’s eyes. He didn't understand why Ichirou was so worried. The cops that had stopped by the office had threatened but there was no evidence to tie him to anything. Because Ichirou was careful and the cop had flipped, Nathaniel had been sent to make sure that no valuable information had been shared and that Ichirou would remain untouchable. Even if someone as low on the pay grade as Brooks had squealed, it wouldn't have been enough to convict Ichirou Moriyama. 

“What did you tell them?” Nathaniel asked. He was growing tired of the question. It had because increasingly repetitive in the last hour and prompting Brooks to continue had become a chore. 

Brooks didn't spit, thankfully. “Nothing, I swear. They just asked me where I was going and why I had requested a copy of the report.”

“And?” 

“And nothing. I didn't tell them anything about the Moriyama family.”

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. “But you told them something.”

“Only that someone was asking for it,” Brooks said. He was beginning to panic. The thought of dying because Nathaniel didn't believe him making him more and more desperate. He pulled on his bonds, apparently not caring that the plastic ties were burrowing away into the skin of his wrists. 

Nathaniel's phone began to vibrate in his pocket. The cheerful sound of a default ringtone echoed eerily in the empty warehouse. Feeling his temper flare with annoyance, Nathaniel gestured for Lola to retrieve it and answer. When she gave him an equally annoyed look, he held up his bloody hands. Furiously, she wiggled the phone from his pocket and answered. Brooks sat rigid in the chair, most certainly worried that this call would be the one to end his life. 

“Hello?” Lola didn’t bother to conceal the boredom in her voice. The person on the other end came through incoherent and tinny. She held the phone to Nathaniel's ear. “It's for you, Wesninski.”

He cradled the phone between his shoulder and cheek. “What?” 

“We have a job for you, Wesninski.” Kinu Amari’s gruff voice came over the phone. Nathaniel hated the man. All of his assignments came from Amari. The man was in his late twenties, had very few interesting qualities and barely any intelligence. No one knew why he was so close to Ichirou but most assumed it was because of his intimidating size and his unquestionable loyalty. Typical guard dog. 

“In case you've forgotten? I'm in the middle a damn job right now,” Nathaniel said. He tried to rein in the biting tone but he had very little patience when interrupted. The Wesninski temper was notorious.

“This one is important.” 

They hardly ever had important jobs but then again, each one was the same for him. “Aren’t they all? What is it this time? What could possibly warrant interrupting this important job I’m doing right now?”

Amari ignored his first question. “Lord Moriyama wishes to see you. Don’t bring Lola.”

“One moment, Amari,” Nathaniel said. He let the phone fall to the floor, call still going, and placed his knife on the table. He hated it when he was interrupted but if Ichirou Moriyama was calling him in, he had no choice but to go. He pulled his gun from his thigh holster and pointed it steadily at Brooks.

“No, please!” Brooks thrashed about in the chair.

“Unfortunately for you, Lord Moriyama has decided you aren’t worth his time.” Nathaniel smiled thinly. The gun kicked in his hand and Brooks’s head flew back. His body went limp, a single line of blood trailing lazily down his forehead. 

Nathaniel re-holstered the gun and peeled his gloves off. He let them drop onto the floor and scooped up the phone. Before resuming his conversation, he nodded to the mess. “Clean this up, Lola. Pull the slug from his head and dispose of it.”

He started for the door, uninterested in whatever angry response she was about to come up with. After changing clothes and leaving the soiled ones for Lola, he left the warehouse. Amari was still waiting for a response but Nathaniel had no problem making him wait a little longer. Whatever job they had would still get finished. He sat in his car, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. 

“Amari? Tell Lord Moriyama I’m on my way.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of a filler, my bad.

Ichirou Moriyama’s office was a beautiful and clean, the complete opposite of where Nathaniel usually did his work. One wall was completely glass and faced the city skyline. Rich, dark wood bookshelves filled the opposite side, covered in various expensive trinkets and books. The desk took up the furthest wall, a large oak thing with a single computer and several stacks of papers. The young lord himself sat in a large chair, frowning at several papers in his hands. He didn’t spare a glance up at the door when it shut.

“Nathaniel, sit,” Ichirou said. He pointed at the chair in front of him with his pen and returned to his business. 

Nathaniel sat, waiting as patiently as he could. It was so rare to be called into Ichirou’s office, but each time it was the same. He would sit and wait, watching sometimes for hours as Ichirou worked and seconds ticked away. Each wasted moment felt like a tug on a leash, a sour reminder of how replaceable and worthless Nathaniel was to the Moriyamas. He didn’t have his own time. He was always going to be on theirs.

Fifteen minutes ticked on in silence. Nathaniel itched for a smoke, something to keep his hands occupied but he forced himself to remain still. It was something that his father had beaten into him. Between fists and a hot iron, Nathan had made sure his son would never forget that even the faintest twitch of a finger was a dead giveaway, disrespectful. 

“Is the cop taken care of?” Ichirou asked. 

Nathaniel schooled the confusion off his face. He hoped that Ichirou hadn’t called him all the way back into the city just to ask if he’d taken care of an unimportant dirty cop. “Yes, Lord Moriyama.”

Ichirou placed his papers neatly on the table, folding his hands neatly over them. He fixed Nathaniel with a very bored stare. “And did he give you anything interesting?”

No, because I was interrupted, Nathaniel thought. But he said, “No, only that the federal agents had tailed him and caught him heading to a meet. He says he didn’t give them what they were looking for.”

“And you believe him,” Ichirou said. It wasn’t really a question at this point. He had no reason to believe that Nathaniel would lie to him. If the Moriyama family went down, they would take the Wesninskis with them.

Nathaniel nodded once. Ichirou sat back in his chair, clearly satisfied with his answer. When he looked out the window, Nathaniel took a moment to observe the man. He was young, but still older than Nathaniel. Despite his father having passed recently, there was no sign of grief in Ichirou’s face. There was only determination. Nathaniel knew was real because he understood it. Ichirou Moriyama had a lot to prove. 

Finally, Ichirou turned back to Nathaniel. “I hear your father will be released today.” 

Nathaniel didn’t answer. It felt like his mouth went dry. It shouldn’t have been all that surprising really. Nathan was technically a model prisoner and since talk of early release with parole had started, the press had been all over it. They’d drug out old case files and evidence. Nathaniel’s mother had been brought up again and again. Painful memories followed Nathaniel around all day. If he allowed himself to, he would be afraid for what would happen.

“Amari told you that we have a job for you,” Ichirou said. Again, not a question. Men like the Moriyamas did not ask questions.

Nathaniel allowed himself a nod. He remembered who he was with only a moment later and forced himself to speak up. “Yes, sir.”

Ichirou gave him a thin smile. He reached for the stack of files and pulled one out. After checking that it was the right one, he passed it to Nathaniel. The file was relatively thin, just a few pages of information with moderately small print. There was a paperclip holding a mug shot to the folder. 

It was a file on Nathan Wesninski. The information was minimal, though Nathaniel knew perhaps everything there was to know about his father. The Butcher of Baltimore, the punishing hand of the Moriyama family. A murderer, an abuser. Nathaniel closed the folder and placed it back on the desk. “I don’t understand.”

Ichirou pushed the file back towards him. “Look again, Mr. Wesninski.”

Nathaniel looked again. “This is-”

“Your father, yes. And your job. You’ve heard the rumors, I presume. About a clean house. Believe them, Wesninski. This is the beginning.” Ichirou sat back and gestured lazily to the stack of his files. He said nothing else.

Nathaniel swallowed hard, watching as all the words on the pages swirled. He had no quarrel with killing Nathan, but that would mean facing him. He hadn’t gone to visit once, had never even thought to care about him until now, really. He looked up at Ichirou, not bothering to hide behind false pretenses this time. “Why kill my father?”

Ichirou sighed like he was tired of the questions, tired of Nathaniel not jumping at the opportunity. “He is useless to me. Isn’t that enough?” 

The file was dropped on the desk, the sound of it slapping the desk ricocheting around the room like a gunshot. Nathaniel was on his feet before he could stop himself. “No, it’s not enough! I can’t just-” He stopped himself just in time, bit his tongue until all he could taste was blood. 

Ichirou watched as he forced himself to sit back down. There was a silence that hung between them as Nathaniel struggled with his temper. Once Ichirou was sure he was listening, he spoke. “I would have thought you would have no issues with this, Nathaniel. Your father is useless to me. He never believed that I would be as successful as my father. He thought I was not dedicated enough. His death will send a message to all who doubt me. And well, sending his son to kill him will only back that message.”

Nathaniel’s hands shook. He couldn’t tell if he needed to hit something or if he needed to smoke. Either way, he was going to both the moment he stepped out of this office. “I don’t have issues with it. I just needed a reason.”

“He gave you that scar, no? Ordered one of his dogs to teach you a lesson. Killed your mother for trying to run and take you with her. Told us it was his way of protecting us. But he took a mother from a little boy. That is not reason enough for you?”

Something sickening twisted his stomach like a vise. It was reason enough, plenty of reason. But he knew it would do nothing for him. He’d been in this job long enough to know that. Nathaniel swallowed and tried his best to keep his voice neutral. “Revenge does nothing to ease the mind.”

Ichirou’s brow rose. “And yet, you have already decided how he will die.”

Nathaniel’s jaw ticked. “I have.”

“Then we will have no problems. Call Amari when it is done and I will give you your next job.” Ichirou turned back to his work, clearly finished with Nathaniel. 

It took him a moment to realize he had been dismissed. He stood, reached for the file, and hesitated. Ichirou must have seen him because he waved his hand. Nathaniel took it, thumbed through the pages a few more times and started for the door.

Amari nodded at him on the way out. The moment he hit the sidewalk, he lit a cigarette. The smoke cleared his head. He took too long of a drag, coughed until he felt like he couldn’t breathe and then did it again. Once he was sure he was thinking clearly, he headed for his car.

He had supplies to pick up and things to plan. One thing he already knew. Lola was not coming on this job.


End file.
